


Live. Love. Laugh.

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-14
Updated: 2009-02-05
Packaged: 2018-12-27 09:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12078720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: A few months after Justin's prom, he has yet to learn how to really cope with the bashing. And the unexpected death of his close cousin Lidya, was only helping in shutting himself out. But unbeknownst to him, Lidya had already planned ahead and Justin will soon find himself on the roads of Canada, meeting a 29 year old ad exec who's on a two month vacation, forced upon him by his boss after he had lost a major account.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes: Okay, I'm going to warn you guys that I took the idea of the story from 13 Little Blue Envelopes by Maureen Johnson. Only instead of travelling around Europe, it's going to be Canada. For those of you who've read the book, there are going to be similiarities, but mostly where the letters and envelopes are concerned. So yes, Justin's journey is going to be entirely different, but some of his 'instructions' might have the same concept as the one's in the book.  


* * *

Justin’s POV

“Mom...... yeah... I know..but-- will you—yes—okay, I know that too but---”  
  
Jesus.   
  
“I have to go mom, I’m hanging up now.... okay. Good. I’ll be sure to send you postcards when I arrive. Bye mom.”   
I put down the receiver before she could say anything else and let out an agonizing breath. 

I still couldn’t believe I was actually doing this. I was going to Pittsburgh just to pick up a package, at a stranger’s house. And then for the rest of the next two months, I’m going to be traipsing all over Canada. On my own. With no cell phone... and no music. Not even a freakin’ camera. Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly, letting my eyes wander at the mass of people scurrying around trying to get to their own terminals at the airport. Most of who looked confident because they knew where they were going. They knew what they were doing. I on the other hand, had no fucking clue. Okay, that’s a lie. I did know where I was going, I just didn’t know why. But then again, Lidya was never like everyone else. And when she set out to do something, it was never any small thing.

I open up my bag, my _only_ bag, and take out the letter my cousin, Lidya, had left me. Normal people, when writing letters to their loved ones, that is to be given after their untimely death, (or not so untimely), write inspiring words. Words that say something along the lines of “ Don’t grieve too much over me” or “I’ll love you always, remember me with smiles” and so on. Like I said, normal people. But as I also said, Lidya could never be accused of being normal, so I guess the fact that she left me a letter full of instructions, is not so unexpected. For her... and to some degree... me.

Opening up the letter and reading it for the eighth time, I mouth out the words:

_~~Dear Justin~~ , _ _no, that doesn’t sound right. It sounds too... polite. Impersonal. Like I’m about to write to some old geezer who’s fond of romantic courteous greetings._  
_Just like the old days..” grandma would say._   
  
_I should just start with “Sunshine” shouldn’t I? It’s what I always called you anyway._

_Sunshine,_

_What I’m about to ~~say~~ impose and ask of you is probably one of **the** most outrageous things I’ve ever done and thought of. And that’s saying a lot. But I really ~~want~~ need you to do this. For both of us. I know these past seven months have been pure hell for you. First the bashing, then your right hand, then that no good jack-A of a father... and finally... me. _ __  
  
I’ve never been bashed in the head, hell I’ve never even hit my head hard enough to say I passed out. So I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through. I won’t say ‘it’s okay’ cause it’s not. I won’t say ‘I know what your going through’ cause I don’t. But I do know pain. I know what it’s like to have your spirits stepped on, ripped apart and thrown out like an old rag. I know what it’s like to feel hopeless and tired. And most of all, I know what it’s like to feel empty.  
_We’re artists love. We tend to feel and see things in ways that not just anyone can. Sometimes our feelings can run so deep it cuts us like a knife. And the mere prospect of never being able to draw or paint again is terrifying. It’s something that’s apart of us and defines who we are. What’s more is that it’s so natural to us, that it’s like breathing or making a pot of coffee as soon as you wake up. So I know that your scared shitless. (I know, I know. Oh my god, Lidy swore. But the occasion called for it.)  
_ _Now, on to business, like I mentioned, this is probably the most outrageous thing I’ve ever thought of, and it’ll probably be one of the most outrageous things YOU’LL ever do. But I know you’ll do it, because you can._

_YOU are taking a trip.... to Canada. Yes that’s right. Canada. But before you do that, you’ll need to take a flight back to the Pitts to pick up a package. It’s at an old friend’s house, her name is Debbie. I’ve written her address at the bottom of this letter. I want you to open the package on your way back to the airport. Open the envelope which has #2 stamped on with wax at the back._ _The thing is, there are rules you should be aware of before you start packing, or you start trying to ~~convince~~ reason with your mother on why you have to do this. I know what your thinking, rules? Lidya Mabelle Taylor is setting rules? The woman who claimed to never believe in rules? The woman who lived by the motto that ‘Rules are meant to be broken’? Yes. That woman. Now read carefully because you HAVE to follow them. Or else there’s no point in any of this._

**_ Rule #1 _ ** _: You can only bring_ **one** bag. Whether it be a backpack, messenger bag, luggage... (although I wouldn’t recommend to pick that last one) Try bringing only what you think you’ll need.  
**_ Rule #2 _ ** _: You_ **cannot** bring a cell phone, iPod, laptop (not that you have one, but just in case), or camera. And no journals. You **need** tobring your sketchbook, a small watercolour case, brushes, charcoal and pastels. Oh, and let’s not forget, pencils.   
**_ Rule #3 _ ** _: While on your voyages, you_ **cannot** contact family or friends in the U.S. by phone or Internet. Postcards and letters are fine, even encouraged.   
**_ Rule #4 _ ** _: You **cannot** bring extra money, credit/debit cards or checks. Don’t worry, all that is taken care of and covered. _ __  
  
Now that’s all you need to know for now. Catch you at Deb’s.  
_Her address is 34 Simour Rd._   
                                                                                                                                                                                         Much Love,  _Good ol’ Lidy_ _  
_ _P.s. Say hi to Deb for me. Tell her that I missed her and that I’m sorry I couldn’t see her before I left. Also tell her that to me, she was always family._

  
The first time I read this letter, I reread everything at least four times. Then I reread the part that explained me travelling, the rules and this Debbie woman at least another four times. And still, it wouldn’t sink in. It felt unreal. It still does. Even when my mother was driving me to the airport, I kept expecting to wake up from all this and find Lidy sitting downstairs in the dining room of my house, having Irish cream coffee with my mother. 

I let out a tiring sigh. It’s been almost four weeks. Four weeks since Lidy’s death and still, it doesn’t feel like it really happened. The very concept seemed... foreign. It’s hard to think of an outlandish-passionate-lively thirty year old buried six feet underground. It’s a strange image somehow, like its wrong. A mistake life made. Or God, or whatever you believe in. It’s funny how you hear or see it happen to other people, even people you know, and you never think it could happen to you. As if it _could_ never happen to you. But it does, and when it does, it’s like you suddenly hit a brick wall and your too much in shock to actually feel the pain. To actually process what really happened. I didn’t even feel like this with the bashing, I guess because I didn’t remember it. I _still_ don’t remember it

“Flight to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania is now boarding.” 

That’s my cue. I grab my bag, which felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, and slung it over my shoulder. This is it. I make my way over, knowing that if I thought any more about the situation, I might have just turned around. Although I’ve gotten better at dealing with crowds over the months, I still panic and get this claustrophobic feeling around large crowds. Let’s not even talk about people touching me. I can’t help but flinch every time. Though I like to think I’m doing better, I mean, a forced smile should count right? 

========================================================================================

Brian’s POV

All morning, I’ve been contemplating throwing my cell phone out the fucking window. It’s all I envision. The cell phone flying in midair, breaking through the glass, and falling right onto the sidewalk. And if it rings one more time, that’s exactly what’s going to happen. 

As if right on cue, the phone rings. Only it’s not my cell phone but my home phone.   
  
I could always get rid of that too.  
  
I pick it up. “What?”  
  
“Brian? This is Cynthia. I’m calling to let you know that I found a flight that leaves for Toronto at ten-thirty tonight. Sound good?”  
  
“Perfect. Reserve it.” And I hung up.  
  
With a heavy sigh, I saunter over to the kitchen and take out a beer from the fridge. Vaguely thinking of how most people would be ecstatic at the prospect of vacationing in Canada, whileI on the other hand get _forced_ into going, by my boss. Simply because he thinks I suffered a mental breakdown when I nearly beat the shit out of a client.  
  
Which had, of course, cost us the account. Fuck.   
  
Sitting on a bar stool, I look at the swirl of smoke from my cigarette. And for the hundredth time that day, wonder what really triggered my violent episode.   
  
The phone rings.   
  
Christ. I get off the stool and debate whether all I should really keep is a cell phone for business calls only. No family. No friends. The idea sounds rather tempting.   
  
“Who ever this is, it better be good. I’m busy.”   
  
“Busy fucking I presume.”  
  
Deb.  
  
“Actually no. Busy working, so if you don’t mind—”  
  
“I DO mind, because I called to remind you of dinner at my house. Six o’clock.”  
  
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. I resist saying no due to the fact that she’ll probably go on a ranting and won’t shut up.“Fine.” And I hang up. The answer machine can take the next call.   
  
I walk over to the bedroom and pick up my packed bag from the floor. I still haven’t told anyone about the two month vacation, and I’m not even sure if I will. Atleast not until I get to Canada.  
  
I look at my watch. Five sixteen. Plenty of time to hit the bars, have dinner at Deb’s and catch the ten-thirty flight. Taking one last look around the loft for anything I might have left behind, I grab my jacket and set the alarm.

Maybe two months away from this godforsaken town, a nagging lesbian and a whiny best friend would do me some good. 


	2. Chapter 2

Justin’s POV

Stepping out of the cab, thoroughly exhausted and hungry, I look up at the house in front of me. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was expecting. Lidya knew a lot of strange people, and she sometimes had even stranger friends.   
  
 I look around the neighbourhood, it didn’t look too bad. I don’t think I’d ever even stepped foot around these parts, which I found odd because this place wasn’t exactly really far from where I lived. And I’ve lived in Pittsburgh my whole life. Another thing that I found odd is that Lidy has never mentioned having a friend named Debbie. Now she wasn’t the type to gossip or brag about her personal life, but she would always tell me stories of her life, her dreams and of the people and friends that she’d met. I’m sure she would have mentioned a close friend whom she considered family. So why didn’t she? Did they lose touch? Go their separate ways? Hell, how long have they even known each other for?  
  
I stay rooted to the sidewalk, unsure of what to do next. Would Lidy have mentioned me? Would this Debbie know? I mean if the package was left with her, I’m sure Lidy would have told her to expect me right? I let out a sigh. I guess there’s just one way to find out.  
  
I climb up the porch steps and finally knock on the door. Silently hoping that no one was home but at the same time hoping there was.  
  
I vaguely see someone coming towards the door through the small curtain of the door’s window. And become acutely aware of the laughter and fairly loud voices coming from inside. Shit. It sounded like a party or something.   
  
And I was right.  
  
As soon as the door opened I hear the clutter of dishes, a baby crying, men talking and a rather loud throaty laugh. Great. Just fuckin’ great. My timing has never been more impeccable.   
  
“Hi, can I help you?”I look up to see an elderly man holding open the door. He was thin and drawn, as if he hadn’t slept for weeks.    
  
“Um, hi, I’m Justin Taylor.... uh, I believe you know my cousin Lidya Tay—”  
  
“Holy shit.” I look over the man’s shoulder where a woman with haunting red hair had cut me off.  
  
“You must be him! Your Belle’s sunshine!” she screeches out while pushing the man in front of her away, and before I can react, she pulls me into a hug, fiercely gripping onto me as if to reassure herself I was real.  
  
“Jesus Sis, let the kid breath a little.”  
  
She lets go and with a wide smile, pinches my cheek. I hate it when people do that. “You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting to meet you. Belle used to talk about you all that time, she was so damn proud of you. I only wish she were here now, introducing us.”  
  
I wasn’t sure what to say that. Or if there was really anything to say. So I opted to just nod my head slightly in acknowledgement.   
  
“Well you’ve made it right on time sunshine. We were just about to eat dinner, now come on in and let me introduce you to everyone.”  
  
She ushered me inside, practically pushing me into the kitchen where a group of people were already sitting at the dining table. All heads turn towards me. I immediately tense up and take a small step backwards. Reminding myself to breathe and quickly stick my hands into the pockets of my sweater to keep them from shaking.   
  
“Everyone I’d like you to meet Justin Taylor. He’s a cousin of a very close and special friend of mine. He just flew in from Indiana.” I hear her say, in a manner of great pride. As if living there was some great accomplishment.  
  
I look up at her. “How did you know I was staying in Indiana?”  
  
“Well, Belle told me of course.” Oh. Right. That meant she must of spoken to her between the time of the bashing and Lidy finding out about—  
  
“Anyway,” she continued, interrupting my thoughts, “this boy here sitting in front of you is my gay son, Michael.” She pointed towards a dark haired guy, who somewhat twisted his body around to greet me with a smile. Which quickly turned into a frown.  
  
“Jesus Ma, do you always have to point that out during introductions?”  
  
“What? There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Besides, Sunshine here is gay too.”  
  
I feel my face heat up and I know I’m blushing. Thanks Lidy. You just had to go and tell our personal stories to a public service announcer. I began to wonder just how much this woman knew.   
  
“Hey, I’ve heard a couple of things about you. Well, from my mom I mean. I’ve only met your cousin about two or three times. But I’ve got to admit, she was really something. She was the kind of person who left a lasting impression.” He let out a small laugh.  
  
Again, I don’t know what to say. It feels weird receiving compliments about my cousin. I mean what are you supposed to say? Thank you? Somehow, atleast to me, that didn’t sound like the right thing to answer. So instead, I nodded my head once again and gave him a small smile.   
  
This was already proving to be exhausting.  
  
“And,” Deb spoke up again, “the two young women sitting across from Michael is Lindsay and her partner Melanie,” the two women smile and nod their heads, “then beside Melanie is Emmett and Ted.” The one who seemed tall, lanky and wore an interesting choice of wardrobe waves his right hand and with a wide smile says, “Hey.” While the other man beside him, who appeared to be shorter and slightly glum, simply raised his glass and smiled.  
  
“Hi.” I say, in what was supposed to be a loud firm voice, but ended up coming out in just above a whisper. Smooth.  
  
“Now where the fuck is Brian?” I watch Deb as she bustles back towards the stove and replaces a kettle. A kettle which looked oddly familiar.   
  
“Late. As always.” I hear Michael mutter just before he turned away.  
  
“Justin.”   
  
I turn around to come face to face with the elder man who had opened the door. He smiled and stuck out his hand, “My name is Vic, I’m afraid my sister forgot to introduce me.” I take his hand and shake it, muttering an ‘oh’.  
  
I suddenly felt like a fumbling idiot. I couldn’t seem to think straight or really acknowledge the presence of these people. It seemed kind of surreal to be in a house full of strangers, some who knew about you and you in turn, knew nothing about them. I was starting to feel a little trapped, and my need for some air slowly grew. This was never a good sign because I knew what it lead to. And that was **_not_** something I wanted these people to see.  
  
“She was a wonderful woman.” I look up at him, surprised at the sudden comment. “Unique in her own way and withheld a strong passion for what she believed in. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like her. ---”   
  
“Can we talk outside?” I blurted. I really hadn’t meant to say it, but it just came out. I needed air and the space to breathe it.   
  
This small closed in place was just not doing it.The man looked at me, seemingly surprised at my small but sudden outburst. But then he smiled.   
  
“Sure.” Then he puts an arm around my shoulders and turns me around, having me face the kitchen once again. “Hey, Sis! I’m going to take Justin outside, we’ll be in a minute.” He hardly gives her a chance to respond before he ushers me with a hand on my back, out the front door.   
  
As soon as we’re out, the anxiety and edge I had begun to feel disappeared, my body seemingly taking comfort in the still darkness of the evening and enjoying the feel of small gusts of wind cooling down my heated skin. I finally let out a tired sigh.  
  
“Feel better?”  
  
I look back the man, Vic, and smile. “Yeah.”  
  
He nods. “That’s good. For a minute I thought you were going to be sick in there.”  
  
I nod. So did I.  
  
Setting my bag down, I open the small pocket situated at the side and pull out my cigarettes. As I take one out I look at the man and offer it to him. He takes it. “Thanks.”   
  
I nod and pull one out for myself, then putting the pack back in the pocket I try and dig out my lighter. Finally locating the cool metallic feel I take it out, revealing a dragon carved ornately around the lighter. A gift from Lidy on my eighteenth birthday. She had found it on one of her many expeditions to Europe, but she never said how she got her hands on it.   
  
“That must have cost you a pretty penny.”I shake my head. “It’s was a birthday gift from Lidy.”  
  
“Ah. From one of her exploits to the old world.”  
  
I smile. Lidy used to refer to Europe as ‘the old world’ too. “Yeah.”  
  
He nods and after that we fall into a comfortable silence. Until he finally broaches the topic I’ve been dreading.  
  
“You must really miss her.”I look at him, then quickly look away and shrug. It was meant to be a statement. Not a question.  
  
“She really was an incredible person, and incredibly young. Too young to have to have left this world so early.” He adds sincerely. “Poor Deb, she cried when Belle left from her last visit here. It’s like she knew she wouldn’t see her again. She was miserable for the first week after that, then, like always, she picked herself up and declared that Belle never would have wanted her moping around feeling sorry for her.”  
  
I look down at my feet, then at the ground, kicking some invisible rock. There were question’s I wanted to ask, but didn’t know how. Or if I was even ready to ask them.   
  
I don’t think I was.  
  
“She left a package.” I say, looking at him. He nods.  
  
“Deb has it hidden somewhere. She figured it would only be a matter of time before you showed up.”  
  
I stare at him, wanting to ask if he or Deb knew what was in the package. Or about what I was set out to do. But suddenly I hear someone slamming a car door. I turn to see a man kick his jeep’s tire across the road, while yelling into his cell phone. Then he turns around and begins to start crossing the street towards us. It was a little hard to see him clearly in the dark, even the street lights were not much help. If anything they only helped to obscure him all the more in shadows.   
  
I look at Vic and see him watching the man with amusement. I look back towards man as he nears closer to the house, still cursing into his phone.   
  
“That is not what I fucking asked for. I distinctly told that incompetent idiot what it was I wanted those boards to portray—well I don’t care how you do it, how long it takes you, and if you have to make pretty and dance with the devil—I want them ALL re-done by the time I get back, or you’ll be peddling your ass on the streets.” With that he slams the phone shut and finally looks up. He catches my eye first, and just as I was about to put the cigarette in my mouth I pause, momentarily stunned. Even if I couldn’t see him clearly, I’d have to be completely blind to not notice how beautiful this man really is. The contours of his jaw, prominent cheekbones, his eyes... I couldn’t make out the color of his eyes in the dark, but his gaze was intense. I felt it. And I know he did too. Finally after what seemed like minutes, but was probably only a few seconds, he tears his eyes away from mine and looks at Vic.  
  
“Brian, your late.” Vic states.  
  
“Fashionably so.” I see a smirk form on his lips. I suddenly had the urge to touch him. To trace my fingertips over his lips, his jaw, his cheeks... I wanted to memorize him. Feel him.  
  
I shook my head to dispel the thoughts and try to ignore this sudden itch was feeling. I was quite unexpectedly inspired to draw. To record this moment. I flex my right hand, and surprise myself at my abrupt feelings. I hadn’t felt inspired to draw anything since before the bashing.  
  
“Justin,” Pulling away from my thoughts, I turn to see Vic suddenly beside me, “this capricious man here is Brian. Brian this here is Justin, a cousin from a close friend of Debbie’s.  
  
”He looks at me again and nods as he’s walking closer towards the house. I nod back and manage to string out a, “Hey.”  
  
This did and did not look promising on many levels. And somehow, I got the feeling it was going to be a long dinner to get through. And even longer night. 


End file.
